


Not a recipe for disaster

by strawberriesandtophats



Series: Cooking with dad [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Din Djarin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28264797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: The kid would decide himself if he wanted to study with a Jedi.But until then, he’d take good care of him.Now with a bonus chapter set after the end of season 2.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda
Series: Cooking with dad [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077101
Comments: 28
Kudos: 185





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The_Icelander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Icelander/gifts).



> Notes: Set right after Chapter 13: The Jedi
> 
> Happy holidays!

Bundling the baby up in more layers, Din put him down as carefully as he could in his seat. Even if the ship had been fixed up properly, he didn’t want Grogu to be cold.

“There,” Din said, adjusting the layers and patting Grogu’s hand. “That’s better.”

The ship was on that old trusty autopilot, he had actually managed to buy a lot of food for the journey. He’d also spent quite a bit of time pretending not to notice when extra sacks of vegetables and rice appeared among the lobster-like creatures he’d actually purchased when the vendors had been helping him load the ship. As the provisions been down to the dregs of what bone-broth was left and they had finished their container of kimchi last week, Din breathed a sigh of relief. There were still a few emergency ration bars left and lemon-curd filled buns, but not enough for a long journey. Barely enough for two days, if he was honest with himself.

The vendors had waved away his money when the kid had grabbed a bowl and promptly started shoveling spiced root vegetable mash into his mouth, cooing and ears moving as Din counted everything in the sack of mixed vegetables that he’d bought earlier. He’d accepted a bowl of mash too, topped with crunchy fried flowers.

Now that he was back in the ship, he could finally eat it in peace. Tilting his helmet back, he kissed the top of Grogu’s head. The kid mumbled in his sleep; eyes half closed as he clutched the silver ball in his hand.

“You rest up, buddy,” Din told him. “We’ve had a big day today.”

He adjusted the layers again, reasoning with himself that Grogu should be as comfortable as possible. Then he headed to the cargo area, thinking of the bag that was full of spice containers of all kinds.

It had been weeks since he had salt.

But now he had everything he needed to make a frankly huge batch of kimchi, spicy meatballs and even enough yeast to make at least once loaf of bread. It had been decades since he’d had a slice of homemade bread, but it lived on in his dreams to the point where he’d hunted down old recipes.

He took off his helmet, breathing in the warm air as he inspected the sacks. It was unusual for him to have so much access to good food. Back when it had been just him, he’d lived off instant coffee, ration bars and the occasional meal when he was on a job.

Food that got the job done and kept him alive.

He eventually found a sack that he’d not seen them sneak in at the very back, inside were sealed bags of cold ground meat. There were also onions, carrots and garlic as well as some strange vegetables that looked like small trees. And even a small bag of mixed spices. Sheets of pre-made frozen pastry had been hidden at the bottom of the sack.

He stared at this unexpected gift for a long moment, distantly aware that what he could make with this would be several meals for the both of them. Carrying a few sacks into the galley, he tried to make peace with just how much more produce had been put into some of them than he’d asked for. Not that he was complaining, he’d begun to accept that people of all stripes would look at the baby and decide that they were going to make sure that he had food to eat.

Din dug around in his memory for a recipe as he turned the oven on, which had decided to start working after the ship had been fixed up. Inside, some of the repair-bots had stashed some metal pans.

He took one of them out, inspecting it. It looked like a bowl, so he pushed the sheet of now-thawed pastry sheet into the bottom of it. Faint memories floated up as he did it, a list of ingredients and a recipe for a meat pie. His father had made that dish, so very long ago, for a celebration of some kind.

Well, they also had something to celebrate now.

Even if it was just the fact that they could spend more time together. That was always worth celebrating. Especially with the life that he had lived, always wandering around, never putting down roots anywhere.

His heart was still beating too fast in his chest, intoxicating feelings that sung of warmth and comfort kept surging through his whole body as he listened to the kid’s faint snores. Allowing himself to linger a bit on that feeling, he closed his eyes and focused on the sound of Grogu dreaming.

Din stayed still for quite some time, just listening.

When he opened his eyes again, he remembered most of his father’s recipe for meat pie. Putting away the pie-dish, he took all the produce out of the sacks and found his cooking equipment.

Right.

It was better to start with the vegetables that he actually knew the names of, so that is what he did.

He crushed the garlic with the blunt end of his knife, chopping it finely before peeling a large potato and putting the skins into his biggest pot. The remains of a large onion and the ends of several carrots joined the potato skins after he’d chopped them all up.

It was soothing to see all the vegetables in their color-coded unbreakable bowls as he tore apart a small lobster-like creature, cutting all the meat off with his sharpest knife before chopping it up as fine as possible.

“Let’s see, here,” he said, watching over the potato boiling in a small pot as he put dumped the spine of the lobster-like creature into the big pot. The wings soon followed, as well as the claws. He poured filtered water over everything once it had browned some. “At least we’ll have some soup to freeze, too. The kid likes soup.”

Grogu didn’t like it when they were low on rations and Din would give him most of the food they had. After all, Din was just fine with eating stale ration bars and coffee for months on end, so giving the kid the good food was just sensible. Still, Grogu would push his bowl of stew and half-eaten buns towards Din, cooing until he’d at least eaten a few bites.

What Grogu liked best when they were on the ship was to snack on something tasty as Din cooked, which Din found to be perfectly reasonable. Making sure that they always had some kind of snack meant that Din slept better at night, because he knew that the kid wouldn’t wake up hungry. So, of course, Din had found himself scouring market stalls on various planets for tasty-looking snacks for the kid, to keep around as bribes and for emergencies when they had to stretch their supplies. Sweet buns filled with lemon or red bean paste, crinkly cookies shaped like eggs and fried pink flower petals.

Din turned down the heat on the simmering heap of bones and vegetables that would grow up to become soup, happy to be able to use the scraps to make something else that would be tasty. Then he found his biggest pan and fried the vegetables until the smell was mouthwatering, carefully putting them away in a bowl before he mixed the lobster-meat and the ground meat together and fried that as well, adding the garlic, onion, carrot and the spice mix as well, he found himself humming. He put in some of the potato water, too. There was plenty of vegetables left for the soup, so he kept chopping as the filling for the meat pie cooked and then cooled.

Cutting up the boiled potato for the kid to snack on, Din breathed out. He mashed it with leftover butter from frying the vegetables, tasting it himself before putting it into the kid’s bowl.

Having a task to focus on helped with distracting him from exactly how distraught he’d felt, pacing up and down as the Jedi had spoken to his son. And how terrifying it had been to try to hand him over, to realize how much he had always dreaded walking back to the ship alone, how good it was to have him around even if he could not understand what he was saying.

Maybe he would, with time.

It was only when he looked up from sealing the vegetables away to be added to the soup later on, intending to roll out the remains of the pastry to put it on top of the filling that he saw that the kid was standing in the doorway with a lemon-curd bun in one hand and copying his humming.

“Hello, Grogu,” Din said, still marveling at the fact that he knew his name now. He’d become so used to thinking of him as his kid that it felt a bit odd. Still, it was so nice to see the way that Grogu looked up at him in recognition, bun half-way to his mouth. “Do you want to join me?”

Grogu cooed, eating his bun and lifted his hands.

Din put him in his chair, on top of the cushion and stroked his ears. He kept humming, if only to drown out the way that his emotions kept wanting to tumble over each other as he put the pastry over the filling and cut slits into the top of it.

He had no idea why he did it, perhaps it had been in the instructions on how to make the pie that he’d read when he’d been a kid himself, or maybe he’d seen his parents do it.

“The song’s about sticking together,” he told Grogu, cracking open an egg and spreading all of it clumsily over the top of the pastry. He threw some salt over it, because seeing his mother do that was the most faded memory he had of her. Maybe doing the same would keep it alive and make it stronger. “I don’t know all the words anymore. But your grandparents used to sing it, when they made this dish.”

He put the pie in the oven, hoping that the temperature would remain steady for the hour or so it would take to cook.

“Not that you have to do that,” Din told him. “I’m not going to pressure you to stay with me, if you want to study with a Jedi.”

Grogu made a sound that Din had never heard before, his ears rising up.

“Yeah, well,” Din said, not knowing what to do, put the bowl of potato mash in front of him and found a spoon. Grogu took hold of his finger, squeezing it before he took hold of the spoon. “We’re good at supporting each other, right?”

Din put his hand on top of Grogu’s for a moment, lingering.

He knew that these were troubling times, but he did not like to think of the kid being away at some temple with only one Jedi to teach him. Even if it had been strangely satisfying to pick him up from school and to have a talk with the robot-teacher, it wasn’t the same.

Surely, one Jedi Master would not be enough to keep the kid safe?

He was a fully trained Mandalorian that often had some kind of backup and even he had trouble doing it. And it was not like they’d stop hunting the kid down when he’d hand him over to this new teacher.

Grogu cooed as he ate his mash, looking around at the simmering soup and into the oven.

Din tried to occupy himself with removing the scum that rose to the top of the soup, with cleaning up the bowls. It didn’t work, especially when Grogu kept humming the song along with him.

He kept looking back at the kid, who sat in his chair and sang.

It was awful to realize that tears were sliding down his cheeks, that he was gripping the edge of the sink to hold back the sobs.

He did not want the kid to leave.

Not ever.

And now that he knew some of the kid’s history and even his name, it would be even harder to separate. It had been a long time since Din had started thinking of Grogu as his child and hearing that Grogu considered him to be his father-figure had made something inside of him crack open like a bank vault.

He knew that the more that he loved the kid, the worse the loss would be. That was just how it worked. But they had both been alone for such a long time, so he could not help wanting to make the best of the time that they did have together.

Grogu was looking into the oven, cooing happily as the scent of the meat pie cooking filled the galley, along with the smell of the soup. The lemon-curd bun was already gone, so was half the potato mash. To be fair, some of it was on the kid’s clothes.

“You know,” he told Grogu. “We’ve got some leftover flour and even some sugar. I bet that you’d like to know how to make those crépes that you kept reaching towards when we were at the market.”

There wouldn’t be a lot of them, but it would be enough.

Grogu drummed on his bowl excitedly, cooing loudly when Din picked him up and put him in the satchel so that they could find the flour and sugar. It took no time at all, but it was reassuring to feel Grogu humming the song that he’d just first heard and learned as they made their way through the ship.

It was even better to teach him how to crack open an egg without shells falling into the bowl, to see flour on his ears and watching him stirring the batter vigorously while laughing as Din washed up.

“We can do this,” Din told Grogu, when the pan had heated up and they poured the batter into the pan together. “You can do this. Just think about how well you did, making your toy come to you.”

Grogu cooed back, watching the pan intently as they made too-thick crépes and undercooked ones until they got the hang of it, Din letting out a delighted sound as the second perfectly cooked crépe landed on the dish to the side.

By the time he was scraping the bowl for more batter, Grogu was holding onto the handle of the pan and made a humming sound when the crépe was to be flipped over.

“That’s right,” Din said, when the last crépe was on top of the stack and he was turning off the heat. “Well done, we got it right. But they’ve got to cool down before we eat them. Otherwise we’ll burn our mouths.”

Grogu made an impatient sound, eating the batter that clung to his hands.

“And clean ourselves up,” Din said, looking at the batter on the child’s sleeves and the flour on his ears. “Then, when we come back, we can enjoy them better.”

Grogu agreed, looking at the steaming stack of crépes as Din picked him up.

The crust on the meat pie was already starting to brown, the broth in the big pot was simmering and would continue to do so for another 24 hours. It would be a matter of moments to grab the lemons from the back when he’d bathed the child and wiped the worst of the flour and batter off his hands and sleeves.

Din tried to swallow down the lump in his throat as he used some of their precious water and soap to clean the child, because he was scared of the sonic shower that only recently started working again. He was distantly aware that he was babbling as he wiped each claw clean, asking the child about how he’d probably gotten used to better water and soap than this in the temple where he’d been raised, asking him to lift his arms and neck and finally toweling him dry.

“I’ll just be gone for a moment, alright?” Din said, when he was taking off his armor. “You just get dressed and play with your toy.”

Grogu was happy to be wearing his clean robe, his ears high and cooing happily when Din found another towel and folded his clothes and put them on the bench beside the beskar armor. Grogu made a sound that almost sounded like Din’s name when Din looked at him, touching his bare neck and jaw for a moment before he slipped into the shower and closed the door behind him.

“The ship is on autopilot,” he reminded himself when there was a clatter as he pushed the buttons. “The soup is simmering on low and the pie has a bit to go before it’s ready.”

His body felt too light without the armor on, too vulnerable.

“The child is doing just fine,” he said, like a prayer. “Just fine.”

He was clean in a flash, even if the comfort of hot water and the smell of soap wasn’t there. That was a luxury of being on-planet, really. Throwing his stinky clothes into the sonic shower was a blessing, but they never felt as good as when he’d dipped them in a lake and scrubbed them properly.

Stepping out, he had been prepared to see that the kid had made a beeline for the crépes and eaten half of them in no time at all. But instead Grogu stood in front of the bench, patting Din’s helmet and inspecting the various pieces of armor.

He showed Din his beskar pendant, patting the helmet.

“Same, yes,” Din said, getting dressed as fast as he could as the kid looked over all the armor. The smell of flaky pastry and bone broth wafted through the air as he began to put on each piece of the armor, one after the other. Taking the helmet and putting it under one arm, he gestured at Grogu. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go eat.”

He found the lemons, a bit wrinkled as they were, behind one of the sacks in the cargo area.

Grogu held them in his claws, turning them around and smelling them.

“We’ll pour the juice on the crépes,” he told Grogu as they came into the galley, putting his helmet away and lifting him into the high chair. “It’ll help us stay healthy, too.”

He sprinkled some sugar over one of the crépes, then a little bit of lemon. Grogu grabbed at it as soon as he’d folded it over, somehow managing to get sugar all over the table and lemon-juice too.

Din decided to enjoy his own crépe instead of starting a lecture on hygiene and being careful. They could enjoy their family time, he told himself again and again as they drank their filtered water and enjoyed their crépes.

The kid would decide himself if he wanted to study with a Jedi.

But until then, he’d take good care of him.


	2. Chapter 2

Just enough time had passed for Din to be able to get back on his feet. He had taken enough jobs to be able to afford his own ship. It was sturdy and well-maintained, if old. There was enough room for the kid’s things and lots of weapons, even the galley was bigger so cooking would be easier.

He’d spent most of his time on Nevarro, helping Cara and Greef Karga out as much as he could. They listened to him when he’d tell them stories about the kid’s adventures and patted his shoulder when he found himself looking for the kid in a momentary panic, not remembering that Grogu was no longer with him.

The important thing was to keep his eyes on the job at hand.

In fact, he was just finishing up a job that put a good chunk of money into his savings when Cara had looked up at the sky with a suspicious hum, her whole body shifting to brace for a hit.

“Trouble?” he asked, tilting his helmet up to see that an X-wing was landing. A very familiar X-wing.

His heart stuttered in his chest, ice flooding his veins as he scanned everything he could. The beskar armor felt heavier as fear sank its claws into him.

“They are too early,” he managed, already running to the nearest speeder. Even if he had gotten his ship, he’d spent his nights planning to wait for a few years, at least, until the kid came back. He’d hoped that Luke Skywalker would visit, Cara had even joked that they could claim joint custody of Grogu and act as his fathers. “They are far too early.”

He raced to the landing site, his mind offering ever-worse possibilities: that the kid had gotten injured, that the Jedi had lost him, that Grogu was dead.

The speeder lived up to its name as they got closer to the ship. But it still wasn’t fast enough, they saw the X-wing land and stay in place.

Din did not scream, nor shout.

He just made the speeder go as fast as it could without breaking it.

“Grogu is a good kid,” Cara said. “And tough, too.”

Aware that Cara was saying this to try to console him, he nodded and was grateful for his helmet because his eyes were watering already.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s true.”

They were silent for a while as the speeder hummed with the strain of going so fast. Cara signed to bystanders, asking about a hooded figure and was pointed in the direction of the Magistrate’s office.

“Why are they back?” he asked her as he parked.

“Maybe the kid’s learned everything he needs to know already,” Cara said carefully. “He’s a smart one. And he used to get lots of training when he was younger, right?”

“Right,” Din said. “If something happened to Grogu-“

But before he could say anything more, he noticed just how silent everyone around the Magistrate’s office was, as if they were holding their breath to see what would happen next. And he supposed that it was a logical reaction to someone that could slice through practically anything with a laser sword. Someone that was so dangerous and well known that the stories about him had been watered down. Din did not care.

He stomped inside, aware of just how alert Cara had become behind him.

Luke Skywalker turned around, his cloak moving in the most dramatic way possible. Grogu peeked from behind the cloak, then made a delighted sound and raced to Din, who immediately picked him up.

“Hello,” Din said, warmth flooding him as Grogu put both hands on his helmet. “Have you been a good boy?”

Luke stilled, ears pink.

Din held Grogu tighter and patted his green head.

“Oh,” Luke said. “You are speaking to the Child.”

Din blinked, looking up.

“Hello Mr. Skywalker,” Din said, trying his best to be polite. “Thank you for returning my son home.”

“Good afternoon,” said Luke, seemingly not noticing that everyone around him was staring in either awe or terror. “I’m glad I found you again, I’ve been searching for you.”

That was fair, Din had been all over the place for a while because of work, first in a borrowed ship and then flying his new one to find and catch people on the behalf of the Guild.

“I thought you’d lost him or something,” Din said, as Grogu cooed and held Din’s finger with his claw. “How has school been, Grogu?”

Grogu waved his hands in the air and made all sorts of new sounds as all the people in the room kept staring at the three of them in a way that indicated that this was prime gossip.

“Really?” Din asked, enjoying himself even if he could not understand him. “And what has Mr. Skywalker been teaching you?”

He gave Luke a look at that, waiting to hear about a curriculum, some basic Jedi moves and perhaps a story or two about how Grogu was stubborn and liked to nap. He’d been making up amusing anecdotes about his son’s school adventures himself, when sleep would not come.

Instead, there was a silence.

Din was about to ask if Mr. Skywalker had gone about his day and ignored Grogu until Grogu became annoyed enough to try to figure out his schoolwork himself when Luke nodded at the kid.

“He’s had many Jedi masters as teachers before I came along,” Luke said, clearly having spent most of his time teaching Grogu about how to be as dramatic as possible. Din could not help noticing that there were dark bags under his eyes and he was pale with exhaustion. “I’ve taught him all I could.”

“Already?” Din asked. “He’s graduated from Jedi school?”

“Indeed,” Luke said, nodding. “You will not have to worry about him following me around the galaxy, always in danger.”

“You didn’t tell me that you were a danger-magnet,” Din said, holding the kid tighter. “But at least you can handle yourself. I saw how you used that laser sword.”

Luke tilted his head in an annoying manner, like he was calculating something.

Din was deeply aware that everyone was looking at him as if he was missing a crucial piece of some puzzle.

“He appears to have learned a great deal from you,” Luke said. “He fights to win.”

“So do you,” Din said, making the diplomatic decision to ask if he’d given the kid his own laser-dagger or something. He looked at Grogu, who was listening intently to the conversation. “Did you get lots of practice using your powers?”

“Using the Force,” Luke corrected him.

“Doing the hand-thing,” Greef Karga said, supportive.

Grogu moved his hand and the desk, a decorative rock and a few chairs were lifted into the air. Then they floated back down.

“Lots of things move up into the air instead of just your toy!” Din said, lifting Grogu up so that they were face to face. “Good job!”

Grogu reached out and Din found his toy, watching as his kid moved his ears happily.

“He wanted to go back home to you,” Luke said, an echo in his voice as if he had been kept awake by demands from the kid to be reunited with Din. “I decided to bow to his wishes.”

“No use in staying with you if you’ve run out of things to teach him,” stated Din. “That is just a waste of his energy and yours.”

Cara made a warning sound.

“Mando, you realize that this man is Luke Skywalker-“ said Greef Karga, sounding urgent. “He’s _important_ -“

Din took a good look at the famous Luke Skywalker, taking in the well-woven cloak and the clean hair and hopeful eyes. Perhaps this was a man that was used to people launching themselves out of the way as he walked down the street, to winning every fight, to spreading hope and fear in equal measure. Some of the stories were too wild to believe.

“I’ll let you continue on your way then since you must be busy,” Din said. “Safe travels.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” said Luke Skywalker, nodding. “I hear that you wield the Darksaber, these days.”

“Are you going to challenge me to a fight for the crown of Mandalore?” Din asked, preparing to put the kid down and thinking about just how much ammo he had on him and feeling lucky that he was wearing quite a lot of weapons today.

People around them drew a sharp breath, as if Din had just stepped into his own grave.

“No,” Luke said, a small smile on his face as he shook his head. “Not today, at least.”

“Shame,” Din said, thinking fondly of his spear and patting Grogu’s ears. “Well, thank you for teaching my kid about the way that Jedis do things. I’ll make sure that he keeps training while I teach him how to fight like a Mandalorian.”

“Goodbye,” Luke said, nodding at him and Grogu. “May the Force be with you.”

He left, putting up his hood as the door opened for him.

The silence reigned for as long as it took for the X-wing to disappear from view; to become only a dot in the sky.

“I’ve got ingredients for your favorite lemon pancakes,” Din told Grogu, who was looking at the sheer relief on everyone’s faces as if they had just narrowly escaped a disaster. “Let’s go make some in our new ship.”

They went on their way.


End file.
